


The Weekend

by desperationandgin



Series: Market Price (The Companion Pieces) [5]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, congrats on the sex, sexy times galore, so much sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 05:09:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18088031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desperationandgin/pseuds/desperationandgin
Summary: Market PriceJamie and Claire spend an entire day in bed (or bed adjacent) getting to know one another. NSFW. Like,veryNSFW.





	The Weekend

**Author's Note:**

> My forever and ever gratitude to everyone who loves this version of Jamie and Claire. I'm so grateful for all of you who've been reading and keeping up! It's not necessary at all to go back and read all of _Market Price_ to enjoy this, but it wouldna hurt my feelings any if ye took a moment to go read the entire work, then came back here!
> 
> Also, I have to thank @smashingteacups forever and ever for being my darling beta and champion soundboard. Thank you!!
> 
> And to my best girl, @cityoflight, thank you for all of your support, always <3

The last day of her suspension from work, Claire would like nothing more than to never leave her bed. Jamie gives her no motivation in that department, making her fall apart during quiet, comfortable lulls in their conversation. She’s never felt quite this satisfied with sex before and she figures out why fairly quickly.

Jamie likes pleasuring her every bit as much as he enjoys getting to the finish line himself. Her current evidence is the fact that he’s now buried between her thighs for the second time since lunch and she’s positive she’s going to shatter and never figure out how to put herself back together again. Not that she can find the brain cells to care when his tongue is doing laps and his fingers curve _just right_. He’s already figured her out, found her tells, and she’s not ashamed in the slightest to rock her hips into the pleasure as she comes again, the fourth or fifth time since they woke this morning. In a light daze, she idly thinks it’s too bad his biology keeps him from knowing this exact feeling; when even stretching out her legs afterward sends pinpricks of pleasure up her spine.

This time he’s ready, she can feel him hard and pressing to her hip. Fumbling for the box of condoms results in slapping at the nightstand repeatedly before finally raising her head to grab the box, pull one out and roll it over him, taking her sweet time about it. She watches his face, the way his head hangs as she strokes the hard length of him; somehow, even hard as marble, he feels like silk. His lips part and he lets out a shaky breath, rolling his hips into her touch just slightly. Laying on her side next to him, Claire pulls him into a kiss, one that has her tongue gliding over his as a leg hooks high over his hip, intent clear and want soothed the moment he guides himself into her. His low groan reverberates through him and into her, and she gasps, arching her back. Never in her life did she think _this_ could feel so good, and her body moves with his in a slow, steady rhythm. When her eyes open she finds Jamie staring right back at her, their eyes locking. With one hand she reaches out to let her fingertips glide along his cheek, over his jawline and then back up to allow her fingers to tangle in his hair. That’s when his eyes finally shut, head bowing to press against her neck when he increases the pace. Her hands cradle him close, working up and down his back and sometimes clinging to his shoulders as his own blunt fingernails glide up and down her arm.

It’s a surprise when one hand snakes between them and two fingers find that aching bundle of nerves, a jerk of her hips making both of them groan in unison. She doesn’t recognize her own voice begging him to go faster, not sure if she means his touch or his thrusts, but he does _both_ and it makes her curve inward, breathing hard as he pushes her over the edge again. The way her body shakes and tightens around him, pulling him in as if he hasn’t made a morning of getting her to come, is what triggers his own release. She feels him let go, feels his teeth lightly bite into her shoulder, and her hold tightens. 

Claire has no idea how much time passes, but when she finally opens her eyes again, it’s to Jamie pressing soft kisses to her neck and throat. She hums softly, then laughs a little, raising her head to look at him. “I’ve never had this much sex in my life.”

Jamie hums and kisses her lips before letting his nose glide along the side of hers. “Anyone who doesna take the time to enjoy ye _thoroughly_ is no’ a deserving person,” he decides. “I could keep doing this all day and never feel done wi’ ye.”

The idea that he would keep pushing her toward oblivion (and in complete honesty pretty much _has_ ) until she can’t move is appealing and he’s rewarded with a deep kiss that she only breaks to snag his bottom lip with her teeth lightly. Even that she soothes with another kiss. “I would very much rather stay here with you than go back out into the real world tomorrow morning,” she says with a soft sigh.

He hums his agreement, kissing her shoulder. “Aye, so would I. But the fact of that matter is yer a brilliant surgeon who must go on to fulfill her duty and I am a verra humble farmer, unable to stay away from the land too long.”

“Sounds like a very bad and cliche romance novel. Perhaps writing them is where your future lies,” Claire decides with a smirk, rolling onto her back now and quite unsurprised when he moves with her, glad to not lose the warmth of him.

“A bodice ripper am I?” he asks with the first ‘r’ sounding perfectly Scottish as his lips press to her chest.

Laughing softly, she nods, fingers dragging through his curls lightly. The only thing that keeps the banter from leading to anything else is the sound of her stomach loudly protesting the fact that they skipped dinner the night before and lunch was only a little bit of fruit and cheese stowed away in her fridge.

“Sounds as though I should go find something for our supper,” he murmurs, fingers lightly dragging across her abdomen.

It makes her twist a little, the tickling, but she smiles up at him. “I wouldn’t mind that one bit. An actual dinner together that won’t be in any danger of being burnt.”

“Ye mean you’re no’ cooking for me?” he asks, teasing as his lips close around a nipple and suck until it’s a hard peak.

She whimpers softly but still manages to lightly smack his leg at the comment. “You have to let that go one day.”

“Oh, never,” he says, giving the curve of her breast one more kiss before sitting up. “Do ye mind if I shower first?”

Shaking her head, Claire props herself up on an elbow, watching as he gets up, admiring the very tight muscles in his thighs and the way his abs just beg to be kissed. “Help yourself to anything in there.” When he disappears into the bathroom her body curls around a pillow, eyes closing as she listens to the shower kick on and the water run. She can smell it when he uses her soap (almond honey scented) because the steam carries it to her nose and there’s something alluring about knowing that he’s going to smell like her now, his clothes will smell like her soap along with all of the nooks and crannies of his body. Sitting up, she stretches languidly, raising her arms over her head before deciding to join him. Sadly for her, the shower turns off and he’s stepping out of the shower as she leans against the door frame. Though, it might not be too sad, because Jamie wet and body a bit flushed fresh from washing is a sight she could not ever possibly grow tired of seeing.

Jamie eyes her, then reaches for the only towel, using it to dry off. He just barely has it hanging again to dry when Claire presses her lips to his, pushing him back against the wall. It’s surprising, the amount of strength one small woman has.

Her mouth over his is urgent, insistent and needy, but she has a specific goal in mind as her lips move down to his neck then across his collarbone slowly. “How is it that I can’t stop wanting you?” she asks, pressing the question against his chest, over his heartbeat.

“I’m no’ sure, Sassenach, but I would like to say I’m verra, verra grateful,” he murmurs, one hand reaching out to stroke her hip. As soon as her head ducks to kiss down his chest he knows where this is going, what she has planned, and it’s enough to make him want it, hard and eager as his eyes take her in.

She kneels in front of him, hands moving up his thighs as her mouth presses hot and warm against his pelvis. Her nose lightly nuzzles at the copper curls a bit lower before turning her head to kiss the side of his cock lightly, impressed when even that garners a groan of pleasure. Slowly, her hand strokes him from base to tip, feeling every ridge and letting her thumb circle. The way he relaxes against the wall is encouraging and it’s all she can do to pace herself, to let herself enjoy the way he feels when she’s the one undoing him. It’s not a satisfaction she lingers in too long, needing to see his want all the way through as her mouth finally wraps around him. On her knees in front of a man is a position she has carefully never put herself in before, but with Jamie, any reason she had for it flies out of the window. Even as she feels his hands move into her hair, she knows without _knowing_ that he won’t hold her there and the realization makes her want this, want _him_ more urgently. 

Every sound he makes has a slight bit of cursing mixed in, sometimes in English, other times in Gaelic, but she loves every single one of them. With one hand she lightly cups his balls, very gently squeezing; his reaction to that alone is inspiring enough that oh, she’ll be exploring _that_ later, to see how long she can draw out his pleasure. For now, her hand picks up the slack where her tongue isn’t, stroking in time to the back and forth of her mouth. She can see the way his thighs are tensing, can taste him leaking, right on the edge. Using that, her tongue focuses just on the underside of him, the ridge at the tip as her hand moves faster. His hands tighten in her hair but she was right -- he doesn’t move, doesn’t try to guide her, doesn’t push her head. He lets her direct and she proves to know exactly what she’s doing. When he comes, she doesn’t pull away because she wants to know what he’s like ( _salty, sweet, of the Earth_ ). She isn’t disappointed, not by a longshot and Claire wonders if this is how he feels each time his head is between her legs, managing to completely undo her. She soaks up every sound he makes, the way his thighs gradually relax, and slowly begins kissing her way back up his body until her lips can press to his neck.

Instinctively, his arms wrap around her though his grip is slack, still too heady with pleasure to do much but try not to sink down the wall. It takes a few minutes, but finally, he opens his eyes and tugs gently so he can see her face. “Christ, Sassenach.” He thought he had more to say, but that’s all his brain can manage before needing to kiss her.

Laughing softly (maybe a little smugly), her lips press to the pulse in his neck that’s gradually getting back to normal. “I know you’re supposed to be getting food, but I couldn’t help myself,” she admits.

“If ever ye feel the great need to do that again, I have to admit, I wouldna say no.”

This time she laughs louder and snags his lips with her own before stepping back. “I really am hungry. So, before you even think of any sort of reciprocity, I think I’m craving Indian take out.”

For a moment, Jamie takes her in just this way; naked, hair wild and curly, truly a mess, and grinning at him. How in God’s name is he supposed to resist _her_? Pressing forward, he has to kiss her again before finally going back to his clothes and tugging them on. “I’ll be back, fast as I can,” he promises, kissing along her neck before finally dragging himself away.

While he’s gone, Claire takes her turn in the shower, dresses in a random pair of shorts and a t-shirt with her hospital’s name on the back, and lights candles around the flat while waiting on him to return. It gives her time to think about him, about them, wondering if this is normal, if it’s what happens every time someone finds a person the chemistry is _this_ instant with. She has no idea what it is about Jamie, but it was there from the moment they met at the farmer’s market. She felt comfortable and at ease, nothing felt awkward, there was no odd ‘getting to know you’ phase where she felt as though she was struggling for casual conversation topics. It was almost as though they’d been friends a lifetime ago and now they were reconnecting. And now he’s been in her bed, done things to her that will make her blush to recall later. To think, if she hadn’t told off her boss, it’s very likely none of it would have ever happened.

When he knocks and calls out that it’s him, Claire gets up and opens the door, aromas from the takeout bag already making her protesting stomach rumble. “Where’d you go?” she asks eagerly, locking the door behind him and making her way to the kitchen for napkins and silverware. She gestures to the living room, wanting to eat on the couch instead of sitting so formally at the table.

“ _Shezan_. I wasna sure what ye like, so…”

So, once again, he got a bit of everything and it covers her coffee table: Lamb and chicken tikka, kebabs, assorted pakora, vegetable samosas, vindaloo in case she likes things spicer than he assumes, butter chicken, and biryani. Plenty of naan bread too, of course. When Claire comes in with a bottle of wine and two glasses, she just stares at all of the food.

“Did you think I invited others over when you bought all of that?” she teases, though she does go back for plates after putting the bottle down. “Thank you, Jamie. I’m pretty positive I could put a massive dent in all of this. You’ve completely worn me out,” she says with a murmur even as she leans in to kiss him softly.

Jamie just smiles, then puts some of everything on his plate after she helps herself. “I thought it might be nice for ye, no’ having to cook for a little while. Ye can come home and reheat something for a few days.”

Claire looks at him, smiling softly and touched at his thoughtfulness. “You really do think of everything, hmm?”

“I was only thinking it might be nice, is all,” he says, leaning over to kiss her temple. It’s still new, all of this, but he knows well enough that she deserves to be taken care of. He can tell from what she’s said in the past and how she looks right now as he explains, it’s not something she’s used to. Which is, to him, unforgivable. They eat side by side (she does like the spicier things, he realizes) but eventually, as hunger gives way to a pleasant fullness and a subtle wine buzz, the plates go down and he can’t resist leaning in to press his lips to the side of her neck. “Ye smell like curry,” he mumbles against her skin.

“And it was _delicious_. I regret nothing,” she admits before capturing his lips in a soft kiss. She wonders, briefly, if she should excuse herself to brush her teeth, but the way he kisses her leaves no room for doubt in her mind that he doesn’t care. She can’t find the energy to care much either.

Light kissing turns into something more once he pulls her onto his lap and reaches out to tug her shirt up and over her head. “Who told ye to put clothes on?” he asks ridiculously as his hands travel up her sides.

“You expected me to lounge around naked, awaiting your return?” she asks, pushing his shirt off as well and taking in the sight of him bare chested, firm beneath her touch.

“Wouldna be outraged if ye had,” he teases before cupping her breasts in his hands, gently squeezing and then a bit harder when he feels her push her chest into his touch.

Her laughter is breathless, hips rocking lightly against his, shameless. “I’ll keep it in mind for the future,” Claire murmurs, raising her hips when his hands begin pushing down the shorts and her underwear. Awkwardly, she kicks everything away before he stands, holding her strong and sure, then deposits her right back on the couch.

“Dinna move,” he breathes out, disappearing and returning a short moment later with a condom. Tossing it on the table for now, he’s also naked again and she holds up a hand, stopping him as he stands beside the couch. Pausing, Jamie watches her, curious, wondering if everything’s alright as she simply stares at him, eyes moving over his body.

“I want to look at you,” she murmurs, eyes moving from his face (she smiles at him softly) all the way down his chest, across his obvious arousal for her, and down those strong legs before going back up again. “Christ, you’re like a statue made of marble, Jamie,” she breathes out, and one hand reaches for him, permission to move again.

Jamie sits on the couch, then pulls her over him and onto his lap. “Ye ken, no one’s ever truly looked at me that way, Sassenach. No one’s seen the things ye see. Only the scars.”

Claire meets his eyes, resuming that slow back and forth against him and sighing softly at the feel of him, hard and ready against her. Her own eyes flutter for a moment before locking on his once more. “You’re so much more than the scars, Jamie. I’ll make sure you know that.” This time when their tongues meet, there’s a fight for dominance and she lets him win, moaning into his mouth before finally taking her turn. His hands travel and roam her body, lips leaving hers only to fall over a nipple. Even as he does that, one of his thumbs presses between her thighs, satisfied when she cries out sharply and jerks against him.

“Have we established that I could do this to ye over and over again and never be tired of it? Of you?”

She’s slightly beyond thinking but hears him and nods. “Christ, I want you right now, Jamie. _Now_.”

He’s enjoyed teasing her in the past but the way she sounds and _God help him_ the way she looks with her eyes blown wide is too much to deny her. Leaning forward with her still in his lap, Jame grabs the condom and hands it to her so that he’s free to let his fingers continue wandering her body. And because it means he’ll feel her hands moving over him; if that isn’t a true religious experience, he isn’t sure what is. As soon as she has the condom in place his hands grab her by the hips and he groans loudly as soon as she guides him home. If there’s a better feeling than this he doesn’t know what it is.

Claire’s hands rest on his shoulders as she moves, hips rocking slowly, raising, then back down, a slow, agonizing circle, and then back up so that he can thrust into her again. It’s exquisite torture that drives all sorts of sounds from her mouth and into the room. One hand glides up his shoulder to grip the back of his head and she shudders at his groan. She knows he enjoys the noises she makes but _his_ sound as though they’re backed with power and primal want and thank _Christ_ he isn’t quiet about it. She can feel when more is necessary, wanted, close to being begged for, and she speeds up against him, his name echoing in the apartment. His hands move low on her hips to anchor himself and she moves with abandon now; he has her and she isn’t afraid to ride him. Her body leans into his, breasts against his chest, cheek against his cheek, and just as her fingernails dig into the scarred flesh of his back she comes, tightening and shattering all at once. Jamie’s name is still the only thing she can think to say and it falls from her lips as though it’s her own personal mantra.

The pull of her, the wet heat and the way she sounds shouting his name has him gripping her tighter, leaving finger-shaped indentations on her hips. There isn’t a thing about her that doesn’t make him want her, from the way her skin feels under his fingertips (like pearl) to the way her hair, those unruly curls, tickle his nose. His desire for her feels stretched tight until her fingernails dig into his shoulders and then he’s lost, groaning as he thrusts twice, three more times, and then swears loudly, her name and a mix of Gaelic cursing, hands holding her as close and as tightly as he dares. This is the moment his mind decides he loves her; sweaty on her couch, the smell of curry hanging in the air and her body limp in his arms. He _loves_ this woman, but it’s too soon to say anything and he doesn’t want to scare the living hell out of her by moving any faster than they have, so, for now, it’s between him and his heart.

By the time Claire can focus again she’s cooled down, lips meeting his skin in feather-light kisses. “I very much don’t want to go to work in the morning. I want you to stay. I want us to stay just like this,” she breathes out, finally pulling back to look at him. “I probably won’t see you until Friday night,” she says a little sadly.

Jamie hates the thought of that himself, and he kisses her temple. “What time do ye normally end a shift?”

“About six,” she murmurs, resting her head on his shoulder. “It can be longer than that. Never shorter.”

His hand glides up and down her back as he thinks, finally humming softly as he comes to an apparent solution. “I’ll pick ye up after work tomorrow. No protesting about it, and then we’ll go eat. Something easy like pizza, aye? I’ll take ye back to get your car and then ye can come home.” All he wants is to be able to see her for a few kisses, there doesn’t need to be anything but that. “Or, if ye think that’s too much, we can always talk on the phone for a wee bit after ye get home.”

Claire pulls back so that she can look at him, a look reserved for the times her emotions are threatening to get the best of her. “Jamie, do you realize how wonderful you are? Truly?” she asks him softly.

He already has a guess; Frank didn’t do this for her. He didn’t care and was angry that her schedule didn’t conform to his. It’s Jamie’s mission now to make sure she knows this, with him, won’t be the same. Which is why he tugs her closer to kiss her forehead lightly.

“It’s been a while since someone told me. But I wilna stop ye from refreshing my memory.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the Indian restaurant (and menu) is real!


End file.
